


The Harrowing of Loki

by ChocoboValentine (Chajiko)



Category: Journey into Mystery, Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Absent Leah, Afterlife, Angst, Blood, Helheim, Helheimr | Hel (Realm), Hurt/Comfort, Pain, Patient Hela, Sad Loki, Tired Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3968200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chajiko/pseuds/ChocoboValentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Child Loki is not granted a haven--not he. Before his destiny can be completed, a cruel blade to the throat sends the child trickster into the realm of the cold goddess whom he had once loved as a daughter.<br/>Is this the end for the young trouble-maker, or will his big brother once again fetch him from the depths of the horror Loki himself has contrived?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Harrowing of Loki

**Author's Note:**

> OK--this is based on an RP I did on tumblr with a Hela who is a LOT sweeter than the Hela you see here, and it was with MCU Loki. Changed it to kid Loki and edited and rewrote a bit :)

The fiery eyes of Garm were all Loki could see as he approached the monstrous wolf—he felt small and powerless and naked, nothing more than any other sorry corpse which had passed through Garm’s shadow to enter the realm of the accursed dead.

“Loki,” the wolf rumbled as he approached.  ”My mistress bid me watch for you, but I did not expect you to come thus.”  

Loki’s hand went to his throat, fingers shrinking away from touching the ragged flesh, still slick will cooling blood.

“…I have been defeated, Garm.  Slain shamefully by an enemy I did not expect.” He did not look at the wolf as he spoke, keeping his gaze on his bloodied hands.  

‘“Ah,” the wolf said, stepping to the side to reveal the entrance to Helheim.  ”This is why you do not come burdened with the goods the fallen are given to help them on their journey to Hel.  It will be long and empty for you, Loki of Asgard. Also, I did not expect to see you in the guise of so frail a child.”

Loki raised his head, chin stiffening.  

“I have never needed the aid of any, Garm, to go where I was fated to go.  Thus I will go empty-handed and as a babe before the wolves.”

The growling laugh of the wolf filled his ears as he pulled his hood up and passed the gate and set his feet upon the road that would lead him to Hel’s domain.

 It was a long journey—empty and bleak and filled with a despair so thick that it filled the air like a miasma of sorrow.  Between the plunging valleys that left him in total darkness there were long, terrible stretches of plains where burial mounds stood close on each side of the road, and the ground was littered with the shattered bones of men and women, each who had been shameful enough to die outside of battle.

 By the end of the first day Loki’s feet were bloody—how can a corpse bleed?—and by the time he reached the river Gjöll, they were in ribbons.  As he made his way towards the bridge, Módgud stood forward to block his way.

She was at least twice his height, and the silvery coldness of her armor and sword, and the height of her great helm, horned as a stag’s head, made him feel feel even more small, ragged and pathetic than he already was.

“State thy name, soul.” she intoned, her voice as cold as her sword, no pity in her voice for a dead child.  ”and thy business.  Only then may you cross Gjallarbrú to reach the realm of Hel.”

“And if I do not?”  Loki’s voice was hoarse with disuse—but the protest was more a formality than anything else.

“Then you may swim, if you wish.”  The giantess’ voice held a note of cool amusement, and she gestured at the river below.  Frost lined each bank, and there was the darting flash of silver in the water—the blades of knives rather than the sides of bright fish.

“…Loki,” he said, briefly closing his eyes as his hand went almost unconsciously to his still-bleeding throat.  ”I seek to enter the realm of the dead.”

The giantess did not move at first, staring intently down at him before she at last stepped aside.

“Your daughter awaits you, God of Mischief.”

If there was a mocking note in Módgud’s voice, Loki chose to ignore it.

“Say that she is my daughter to her face,” he said quietly, “and you will discover the true rage of the Lady Hel.”

He crossed the bridge and followed the road as it turned north.  Before very much more time had passed he stood before the vast gate, and raised his fist to pound upon the barrier—demanding entrance to the Realm of Hel.

*****

The dream had been muddled, bordering on absurd - her father--the ridiculous child, weak and frightened and apologetic, blood-soaked with a slashed throat, standing at the end of one of Midgard’s monstrous metal bridges, laughing to himself as his shadow crept across, more blood trailing behind it, turning sticky under the searing sun and tears stained his cheeks.

She had gone to Garm upon waking, and then returned to Eljudnir to take up her vigil at the gates, fear like an anvil in her stomach. For twenty-thousand breaths she waited, the fear spiking through her at each knock, only to ebb when the knocker proved to be some other soul.

This time there was no ebb. Is this what a fly feels like, she thought, when a shrike stabs it on a thorn?  Loki, throat torn open, standing wounded and bedraggled at her gate — this was not supposed to be, not yet.

Softly, she spoke.  “Father--child--why are you here?”

Loki’s good hand came up, self consciously trying to hide the ragged tear across his throat.

“Why, daughter—” he attempted a smile.  ”I promised you I would come to you, and I always keep my promises.  My manner of coming is different than either of us expected, but..” he shook his head.  ”such is the capricious lady of fate.”

“Fate?” Hela said, letting the gates swing shut behind them with a punctuating clang. “If this is truly your fate, then I will have words with the Norns myself. Oh, child! What has happened?

He brushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes with his good hand as she looked down at him, and his face was grave.  

“It is a story that will be long in telling, Hela.  The simplest answer is that I did this to myself, really.”

“So--you are saying this was suicide, with a dash of self-mutilation to liven up your demise?” She frowned pointedly at his injured hand, her living cheek growing red as her temper rose. “You cannot truly expect me to believe that, God of Lies or not.”

“But I shan’t leave you standing out here in the cold,” she continued briskly, holding fast to the hard knot of anger now lurking in her breast, for if she were to let it go she would certainly shatter. “So come inside, and then I will have the full truth from you.”

Loki let his head droop.

“No, my Lady.  It was not suicide, nor some masochistic need to harm myself, not exactly.  It is—a complicated matter.  I am in sure need of rest, Hela, and promise that you shall have the truth if you will but give me a place where I can be still.”

“Inside, then.” She shelved the matter for a later time and turned to lead him into the fortress, down a twist of serpentine hallways to her own living space, where she offered him a chair.  “Sit down, and I will bring you some water.”

Loki limped along with her, his toes leaving bloody prints in their wake.

He settled into the chair with a groan, giving his Hela a wary smile of thanks. “Yes, Lady.”

She stepped from the room; a glass could be heard clinking, and then her footsteps were back behind him.  “Here,” she said, setting the water down.  She began to spread a blanket over him - undyed, but soft and warm - but paused at the sight of his feet, kneeling to examine them more closely.

“Child, you are bleeding. I will tend to it, but—” She looked up, her face as impassive as ever. “It is an attribute of the body. Souls should not bleed.”

Loki blinked down at his feet, as if only just then becoming conscious of why his feet HURT.

“…so it is,” he said, and touched the bloody gash on his throat again.  ”…perhaps—”  he shook his head, pulling the blanket gratefully close about himself and reaching for the water.

“Hela, you must hear the manner of my dying, and then perhaps we two can make sense of all of this mystification.”

She nodded, though still unsettled - even the frost giants torn limb from limb by the Bifrost had arrived whole and unbloodied, and that was a day she would not soon forget.

“I shall fetch bandages, and then you will speak.”

He nodded—and closed his eyes as she left, trying to find some way in which to make the story of his seeming demise make any sort of coherent sense.  It sounded insane, even in his own head.

She returned after a few minutes with bandages, a bowl of water, and a rare bit of soap, still frowning and unsettled.  “I don’t know if cleaning these will be painful,” she admitted as she dipped the soap in the water, “or if leaving them untended will cause infection, or— I don’t know. I have never seen this before.”

Loki smiled tentatively  

“I can endure a little more pain, Lady Hela, especially if it will help the mother of all souls care for her children.”  He drew in a deep breath, groping for some way to begin.  ”I—I do not believe that I am all the way dead,” he said lamely, then grimaced.  ”or rather, my body still lives, though I am no longer residing in it.”

“A blow to the head can do that, but it would not leave your spirit like this,” she said briskly. “You would not have made the long journey.”

Carefully, she began to clean the cuts, eyes on his wounds. Touching his bare skin only emphasized how light, how spectral he was.

“Nor would it leave you so insubstantial,” she continued. “Therefore, you must mean something else by your words. Explain.”

“It was no blow to the head,” he said grimly.  ”I—” he shook his head.  ”Lady Hela, I do not know how to explain to you what is happened.  It is as if my soul fragmented itself—and I—this fragment—was…killed by the other.  It was a dream, and yet I never awoke.”

“So you are but a portion of yourself; the rest of you still lives in your body, and that portion killed you in a dream. That sounds utterly mad, you know.” She tied off the bandage and moved briskly to his other foot. “But as it’s the only explanation you seem to have, I suppose I must accept it, and a lingering tie to your body could indeed account for your persisting injuries. Now, why would your other part wish to hurt you?”

Loki watched her work, not paying much heed to the pain of the dressing.  His mouth twisted into a half smile.

“Why, Lady, do you think I would lie to you at such a time as this?”  He leaned back into the chair again with a sigh.

“Why does anyone wish to hurt me?  There are a thousand reasons, Lady, and they are likely some of the same that you yourself and Leah have felt from time to time.”

Her lips thinned. “We are not talking about me, Loki; we are talking about you. Did your other self dispose of you because he felt that you were not causing sufficient mayhem? Or too much mayhem? Or because he has grown tired of murder and wished make a fresh start? Though I doubt that, as I have yet to see any remorse in you.”

Loki flinched.

“You have not been with me to see the remorse.” he said quietly. “…and if you must know, it is because the mischief I find to truly be to my taste is the sort that does not end in terror and death.”

“If you are truly remorseful,” she said tightly, “then tell me why you did it.” Her hands tightened convulsively, inadvertently digging into one of his wounds.

Loki stiffened, his face managing to turn whiter than it already was.

“My Lady,” he begged. “—your grip, if you please.” He was silent for a very long moment.  ”…why I did what, Lady?  There are so many deeds with my name upon them that many would have explained.”

“Everything!” she snapped, releasing his foot. “You let the Allfather take us,” she began, ticking off on her fingers. “You stayed in Asgard vying for his favor even after he cast us away - your children. Who else did we have,apart from you? And the frost giants…” She breathed in deeply, trying in vain to calm herself before continuing.

“Some of them were attacking you, I know, but you began it with your ‘prank’. And your betrayal and murder of their king, what did that accomplish? Why did you do it?  Do not dare speak of Asgard and Jotunheim being enemies. That was never a problem with my mother, was it? Or with your half-Jotun children? Will you kill us, too, for the threat we pose to Asgard?

“You vanished for months - your absence here making it plain that you were not dead, despite what Asgard believed - only to reappear on Midgard, of all places, and launch an attack— do you have any idea how many souls found their way here that day? Then Thor drags you back muzzled and in chains for punishment, till suddenly you are free and a child and back on Asgard. And now you are here, telling me that half of you has killed your other half to wreak more havoc! I do not understand how my father turned into the creature before me, so tell me why you did it.”

Loki’s face fell into weary lines, and he did not answer for a very long few minutes.

“…Hela.” he said at last.  ”I have no answer which will mollify you.”

“You did it all without reason, then? For mischief? You cannot answer for even one single event? So much for your silver tongue,” she said with disgust.

“Hela,” Loki’s voice was ragged.  ”My Lady, my daughter—please.  I—none of this is simple.  None of this is easy.  I have just—I have just died.  If my tongue is stilled, it is because of shock and weariness.”

She sat silently for a few breaths, eyes closed, and then she returned to his foot, bandaging it deftly, and then looked up, armor back in place.

“Allow me to tend to your neck, and then you may rest; I will make certain that you are not disturbed.”

He shifted, giving her easy access to the gaping wound that spanned throat and half his neck.  

“When Odin exiled you,” he said quietly.  ”I thought I would die.  It made me physically ill—and nothing I did budged him an inch.  I have never stopped fighting for you—though in many ways, you are better off than all your siblings, Hela.  Fenris suffers the worst.”

“I know what Fenris suffers,” she said sharply. “And I will kill the Allfather for it myself, should I find the opportunity. Now hush; I need you to be still.”  With careful hands she dried the skin surrounding the gash and began to apply bandages.  Perhaps stitches would be more practical, but it was unlikely that the wound would heal no matter how it was treated, and she did not wish to dredge up more painful memories.

Loki sighed and fell silent, letting her work.

Nothing you say will give her peace—she is even more angry than you are, God of Mischief.

Loki hesitated—then reached up and gently brushed his fingers over his daughter’s cheek, though he did not speak again.

“I can show you to a room. Or you can stay here, if you like,” she offered sharply, pulling away. “Either way, I will be sure you are not troubled.” More than a few of Hel’s souls, she knew, would not be happy to see him.

“It does not matter to me,” Loki said, wearily.  ”Truly.  Give me a corner and I will curl up in it.”

“Stay here, then. That way I will be nearby, should something else happen to you. I would tell you that you will not dream, but the state you are in… Who can say?” She smoothed down a corner of the blanket and gazed down at him with a cool face for a long moment,. “Rest well, Father.”

Loki turned his face away so that Hela could not see the tears that quickly overflowed his eyes and spilled down his cheeks.   
“I will try, Lady.”

****  
  



End file.
